I just reread this blog. Maybe you stumbled upon it, maybe you were a reader and checked back in.
In case you were wondering, Scott seriously injured his foot and was unable to run the marathon. But that didn't stop him from completing one down the line!
I got a job in LA 3 months after this last post. With great determination, I lost almost 80 pounds and continue to live a healthy, active life (albeit with far less running. I hate running). Scott accidentally ran a half marathon last month because he's an asshole. We still love each other and we still love to drink.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Saturday, March 26, 2011
At It Again
On May 2nd, 2010, I completed the New Jersey Half Marathon.
A triumphant moment.
After months of training through icy winter weather and pushing myself farther than I ever thought imaginable, I crossed the finish line in just under 3 hours. On top of that, I raised (with many of our readers' help) $2600 for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society through Team In Training. The carb-loading pasta orgy that took place the night before the race was bliss. The actual race? Brutal. The weather was unseasonably warm. And in warm I mean so goddamn hot that I got a tan from the asphalt. There was also a lack of water stations so dehydration was a very real issue. I walked more than I planned and my time suffered for it. But I--a gym class failure--finished. If they weren't playing Michael Jackson at the mile two marker, I might have given up right then. If it weren't for the kindness of the Long Branch citizens turning their hoses and sprinklers on us, I might have passed out. If I didn't have my trainer and friend Jenn by my side, I would've talked myself out of the whole stupid thing and found the nearest air conditioner. If it wasn't for TNT members and my family and friends cheering, I might not have been smiling when I crossed the finish line.
This helped too:
Encouragement I can get behind.
I thought a lot about the wine. Especially cold wine. Upon returning to Manhattan, I promptly ate my body weight in brunch (my own and that of those around me), downed about 10 cocktails, and went to bed for twelve hours. A glorious finish.
So what did I do after completing an unbelievably insane goal that my friend Scott talked me into all that time ago? I stopped running, took a trip to France, and gained about 20 pounds through cheese and macarons alone. There was one point where I even stuffed a croissant with ice cream. And ate it. With gusto and glee.
Yeah, this happened.
Then I came home and I dabbled in running. But I also continued to dabble in eating. And then the temperature dropped and I turned to hibernation. I abandoned running altogether. I picked up a bad Westville takeout habit. Every now and then I would look outside at the dark days of wintry mixes and snowpocalypses and wonder to myself, "Did I really run ten miles in this last year? Outside? Sometimes twice a week? Surely that never happened." And if it weren't for the photo evidence and this blog, it would feel like my accomplishment never really happened at all. Through the holidays and into 2011, I put on another thirty pounds...a fact that I just discovered by weighing myself for the first time in months.
The weather is thawing now and I had the opportunity to put on a dress recently. I should've been thrilled, but the truth is, my thighs quickly became so glued together that it was painful. No amount of baby powder or runner's glide would unstick them. This small moment (and not so small chafing rash) was a turning point. It wasn't the increasing tightness of my clothes or my inability to attempt a mile...though those were factors too. The fact of the matter is that I am the heaviest I have ever been, so out of the shape that I feel like I'm starting all over again, and am starting to think with concern, for the first time, about what this could mean for my health. The half marathon is a distant memory and I need to remember what I'm capable of again.
No, I don't plan to run a marathon anytime soon. Or even a half marathon for that matter. I did it, it's over with and I'm in no rush to do it again. But it is time to start running again. I hope you'll join me.
Here's to new beginnings...and trying to love the road.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Back to our regularly scheduled programming (soon, I hope)
Bloggers,
This is the longest I've gone without blogging since Celeste and I started this journey back in November -- and with good reason. Almost two weeks ago while charging through a TNT hill work-out, I felt a searing pain on the top of my left foot (the same spot that gave me grief a couple months back). Sprinting uphill wasn't the problem; on the downward recovery, I couldn't hit the ground without hurting. I figured I'd show some restraint, cut practice short, and let my foot heal. The damage, however, had already been done. After hustling around the city for a week, not running, and feeling only minimal relief, I took Coach Mom's advice and went to see a podiatrist. I had resisted for a few days because I was nervous about the recurring nature of the pain. I didn't want to be told that there was some chronic issue with my foot.
Highly recommended by a co-worker of mine, the doctor did not disappoint. She conducted a thorough foot exam (and sent me for an x-ray) and concluded that the problem was with the fit of my sneakers and how tightly I've been lacing them for the past few months; she suggested I see a physical therapist and invest in new shoes.
Who am I to disagree with medically-mandated shopping? The pain having subsided, I trekked uptown to JackRabbit Sports earlier this weekend and spent an hour with an outstanding salesman (shout-out to Mark on 14th Street) who recommended a wider, more padded sneaker. Enter the Asics Nimbus wide (read: fatty) model. Named after a puffy breed of cloud, the shoes are spectacularly comfortable; I couldn't wait to get in them and hit the road again. After being off my feet for a week and a half, I prepared myself to start slowly, trying a 7 or 8-miler to get my body back into a groove before upping mileage to pre-injury distances. I laced up last night and, loving the balmy (for February) evening air, felt amazing heading down the FDR on the route you all know by now is one of my favorites in the city.
Somewhere near the Brooklyn Bridge, however, disaster struck. I tripped over some errant litter on the walking path and fell to the ground, twisting my left foot and landing on my side. I stood up to regain my bearing and found that I couldn't put any pressure on it without experiencing piercing pain. Sans cell phone and cash (wielding only my keys and a subway card), I literally hobbled down some side street with no clue how I would get myself back to my apartment. Searching fruitlessly for the 6 stop near the Brooklyn Bridge, I stopped at a pay phone and cried while trying to call my parents collect. No doubt the most embarrassing moment of my training thus far and I'm putting it out there to remind everyone how emotional the process of prepping for a long-distance race can be. The sudden jarring shift from the elation of running again to the devastation of knowing that thanks to a clumsy fall I'd be off my feet for another week tore me up.
I sat on the curb waiting for a cab that never came (I figured when I got back to my apartment I'd buzz for my roommate to bring down some cash), tears still welling up in my eyes, frustrated that some asshole's trash could wreak such havoc. A public bus shuttled me to around the corner from my apartment and I stumbled back by hopping on one foot for a block's length. I've been icing, Advil-ing, and reclining for the past 24-hours. The pain is very much present but I can feel it getting better slowly, if not surely. I'm upset (I'm furious) and I'm exhausted from worrying so much about what this means for my training. The only sources of comfort right now are knowing that in due time the human body heals and that the TNT calendar has been so demanding this early in the game. That we've been doing distances longer than a half-marathon for almost a month puts me in a great position for a May race. A few weeks off the road shouldn't really destroy the master plan (knock on wood).
So bloggers, back to the couch and boob tube I go. I'll keep you posted re: this stupid injury and can't wait till I write about how great it feels to wake up at 6:30 a.m. in the freezing cold and bang out 18 miles before brunch.
Onwards and upwards, right?
This is the longest I've gone without blogging since Celeste and I started this journey back in November -- and with good reason. Almost two weeks ago while charging through a TNT hill work-out, I felt a searing pain on the top of my left foot (the same spot that gave me grief a couple months back). Sprinting uphill wasn't the problem; on the downward recovery, I couldn't hit the ground without hurting. I figured I'd show some restraint, cut practice short, and let my foot heal. The damage, however, had already been done. After hustling around the city for a week, not running, and feeling only minimal relief, I took Coach Mom's advice and went to see a podiatrist. I had resisted for a few days because I was nervous about the recurring nature of the pain. I didn't want to be told that there was some chronic issue with my foot.
Highly recommended by a co-worker of mine, the doctor did not disappoint. She conducted a thorough foot exam (and sent me for an x-ray) and concluded that the problem was with the fit of my sneakers and how tightly I've been lacing them for the past few months; she suggested I see a physical therapist and invest in new shoes.
Who am I to disagree with medically-mandated shopping? The pain having subsided, I trekked uptown to JackRabbit Sports earlier this weekend and spent an hour with an outstanding salesman (shout-out to Mark on 14th Street) who recommended a wider, more padded sneaker. Enter the Asics Nimbus wide (read: fatty) model. Named after a puffy breed of cloud, the shoes are spectacularly comfortable; I couldn't wait to get in them and hit the road again. After being off my feet for a week and a half, I prepared myself to start slowly, trying a 7 or 8-miler to get my body back into a groove before upping mileage to pre-injury distances. I laced up last night and, loving the balmy (for February) evening air, felt amazing heading down the FDR on the route you all know by now is one of my favorites in the city.
Somewhere near the Brooklyn Bridge, however, disaster struck. I tripped over some errant litter on the walking path and fell to the ground, twisting my left foot and landing on my side. I stood up to regain my bearing and found that I couldn't put any pressure on it without experiencing piercing pain. Sans cell phone and cash (wielding only my keys and a subway card), I literally hobbled down some side street with no clue how I would get myself back to my apartment. Searching fruitlessly for the 6 stop near the Brooklyn Bridge, I stopped at a pay phone and cried while trying to call my parents collect. No doubt the most embarrassing moment of my training thus far and I'm putting it out there to remind everyone how emotional the process of prepping for a long-distance race can be. The sudden jarring shift from the elation of running again to the devastation of knowing that thanks to a clumsy fall I'd be off my feet for another week tore me up.
I sat on the curb waiting for a cab that never came (I figured when I got back to my apartment I'd buzz for my roommate to bring down some cash), tears still welling up in my eyes, frustrated that some asshole's trash could wreak such havoc. A public bus shuttled me to around the corner from my apartment and I stumbled back by hopping on one foot for a block's length. I've been icing, Advil-ing, and reclining for the past 24-hours. The pain is very much present but I can feel it getting better slowly, if not surely. I'm upset (I'm furious) and I'm exhausted from worrying so much about what this means for my training. The only sources of comfort right now are knowing that in due time the human body heals and that the TNT calendar has been so demanding this early in the game. That we've been doing distances longer than a half-marathon for almost a month puts me in a great position for a May race. A few weeks off the road shouldn't really destroy the master plan (knock on wood).
So bloggers, back to the couch and boob tube I go. I'll keep you posted re: this stupid injury and can't wait till I write about how great it feels to wake up at 6:30 a.m. in the freezing cold and bang out 18 miles before brunch.
Onwards and upwards, right?
Monday, February 1, 2010
8 Mile
Yeah, I just made an Eminem reference. Deal with it because I ran 8 miles today and I can do what I want! Except walk up stairs...I can't do that very well right now.
I finally used the watch from the future that Jenn gave me months and months ago. It uses GPS triangulation to calculate my distance and pace and it's awesome. I mean, it's 2010, guys. This is the future.
Now I'm going to enjoy the best part about running: eating.
My Weekend...
My weekend started like this:
...and ended like this:
Today I'm going to try to run 8 miles. God help me.
Love,
Eds
Saturday, January 30, 2010
No Pain, No Gain
Plagued by a stomachache that won't go away, I'm sitting in my kitchen wearing pajamas at 9:30 on a Saturday night. What is wrong with me? For the first time since this morning's long run, I don't feel totally wiped out and have the energy to update you bloggers on a week of tough workouts post-half-marathon, capped off by today's fifteen miler. Maybe it's the fact that fifteen is next in line in increments of five, but I'd been looking forward to hitting this training milestone for quite some time (maybe even more than tackling 13.1). It was not, however, the sensational experence I had been hoping for.
I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m. aware that we should be expecting a cold one. I didn't quite get how just frigid it was going to feel in Central Park. 13 degrees recorded without factoring in wind chill is not exactly an ideal climate to push one's body in (particularly when said body is still recovering from a race just six days earlier). As soon as I stepped out of my apartment building, my body was stiff, my mind was elsewhere, and my upper abdomen was all kinds of wonky. For the first time in a few weeks, I made it to practice on time via subway (kudos, Scott!), joined up with (a sizably smaller) TNT crew and hit the road with Carey, Dimitry, and Coach Doug. With the help of Carey's Garmin and Doug's knowledge of the park, we veered off from the routine outer loop and messed around on the bridle path and the recreational facilities. I heated up moderately well and was fine with the slower "long run pace" but knew something was slightly awry when Carey told us our mileage...and we still had half the length to go.
Usually on these long runs I am game to pound through the workout and keep going; today I literally could not wait to be finished. Visions of burgers and fries danced around my brain as we finished the tenth mile...and still had a five-mile lower loop to complete. Though Carey, Dimitry, and Doug were great company, I was out of the zone today. After stretching and walking over to the West Side, though, the pain began. While my muscles were mostly fine, my outer extremities were frozen to the point of having no feeling. I grabbed the first available cab and dashed into a diner near my office and sat silently for a good ten minutes while I tried to re-heat. In retrospect, I think the mental feeling of not having "blazed through" a Saturday run exacerbated the physical pain. Regardless, it was a tough one today; it seems my body is still working out its last kinks from the race last weekend.
However, I've done it: I've hit 15 miles and am 11.2 away from race distance. No pain, no gain. It's amazing thinking how far we've come in such a short while. Today while on the eastern stretch in the 90's, a young woman with a backpack spotted Dimitry and Doug's TNT gear and frantically sought to catch up with us believing she was late for the training run for "the marathon." We figured out that she was meeting up with the Summer Season crew for their first practice and sent her in the right direction, reminding me of my first practice in November when a bunch of Fall Season runners whizzed by in the middle of a 15-miler. That distance seemed absurd then, but was a reality today.
All of these workouts - the tough one today, the 6:30 a.m. pre-sunrise speed workout with Dimitry in the snow on Thursday, and the brutal hill training on Tuesday night (let's not even talk about that one) - are in the service of achieving a much greater goal, and I think that's what I love most about this experience. Setting small goals and winning little victories positions the ultimate accomplishment that much more within reach.
So I'm sore and my stomach is still bugging me, but I'm optimistic and ready to go to bed.
I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m. aware that we should be expecting a cold one. I didn't quite get how just frigid it was going to feel in Central Park. 13 degrees recorded without factoring in wind chill is not exactly an ideal climate to push one's body in (particularly when said body is still recovering from a race just six days earlier). As soon as I stepped out of my apartment building, my body was stiff, my mind was elsewhere, and my upper abdomen was all kinds of wonky. For the first time in a few weeks, I made it to practice on time via subway (kudos, Scott!), joined up with (a sizably smaller) TNT crew and hit the road with Carey, Dimitry, and Coach Doug. With the help of Carey's Garmin and Doug's knowledge of the park, we veered off from the routine outer loop and messed around on the bridle path and the recreational facilities. I heated up moderately well and was fine with the slower "long run pace" but knew something was slightly awry when Carey told us our mileage...and we still had half the length to go.
Usually on these long runs I am game to pound through the workout and keep going; today I literally could not wait to be finished. Visions of burgers and fries danced around my brain as we finished the tenth mile...and still had a five-mile lower loop to complete. Though Carey, Dimitry, and Doug were great company, I was out of the zone today. After stretching and walking over to the West Side, though, the pain began. While my muscles were mostly fine, my outer extremities were frozen to the point of having no feeling. I grabbed the first available cab and dashed into a diner near my office and sat silently for a good ten minutes while I tried to re-heat. In retrospect, I think the mental feeling of not having "blazed through" a Saturday run exacerbated the physical pain. Regardless, it was a tough one today; it seems my body is still working out its last kinks from the race last weekend.
However, I've done it: I've hit 15 miles and am 11.2 away from race distance. No pain, no gain. It's amazing thinking how far we've come in such a short while. Today while on the eastern stretch in the 90's, a young woman with a backpack spotted Dimitry and Doug's TNT gear and frantically sought to catch up with us believing she was late for the training run for "the marathon." We figured out that she was meeting up with the Summer Season crew for their first practice and sent her in the right direction, reminding me of my first practice in November when a bunch of Fall Season runners whizzed by in the middle of a 15-miler. That distance seemed absurd then, but was a reality today.
All of these workouts - the tough one today, the 6:30 a.m. pre-sunrise speed workout with Dimitry in the snow on Thursday, and the brutal hill training on Tuesday night (let's not even talk about that one) - are in the service of achieving a much greater goal, and I think that's what I love most about this experience. Setting small goals and winning little victories positions the ultimate accomplishment that much more within reach.
So I'm sore and my stomach is still bugging me, but I'm optimistic and ready to go to bed.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Texts from Maya Angelou
"Thunder thighs was always a term of endearment. All to nibble on when you were a munch. Now they are thunder to achieve the goal."
--Mom
--Mom
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